


Come What May

by ellymango



Category: Ballerina | Leap! (2016)
Genre: F/M, Marriage Proposal, Memories, Past Relationship(s), Short One Shot, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 17:31:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14117352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellymango/pseuds/ellymango
Summary: It started out like any other night. The kind of night they were so used to, where they met on the stage after she was done working, where he took her hand and kissed it and led her into a dance. And they'd talk about mundane, everyday things like how his latest ballet was performing, whether she had too much work, how was her lame leg faring after the day’s work, and so on.Only... they didn't talk about mundane things, like work and old wounds.





	Come What May

**Author's Note:**

> Yanno I thought the proposal I had was... not Méradette enough. So I rewrote it :D
> 
> Also, have a little quickie whilst my longer fics get beta read ^^

It started out like any other night. The kind of night they were so used to, where they met on the stage after she was done working, where he took her hand and kissed it and led her into a dance. And they'd talk about mundane, everyday things like how his latest ballet was performing, whether she had too much work, how was her lame leg faring after the day’s work, and so on. 

Only... they didn't talk about mundane things, like work and old wounds. 

"How long do you think we've known each other?"

Odette mused against his bow, turning the question over in her mind. It was an out of the blue question after all, and not one she’d put thought into so as to have an answer ready. "Ten years maybe? Fifteen?" 

"Well, when did we meet? How old were you again?"

"Sixteen, I think." _Definitely_ sixteen, now that she thought about it. She’d barely been promoted to _sujet_ when he’d unceremoniously thrown up following an impromptu attempt at performing as many fouettés as he could, and she’d spent the evening doing whatever she could to help alleviate his nausea. 

"So I must have been.... twenty maybe? Or about that?" He took a moment to calculate. “God, we’ve known each other a while, haven’t we? Almost since we were children.”

“We weren’t _quite_ children then, Louis...”

“It feels like we were though.” Or it did to him, in how naïve and carefree he’d been, with a rebellious streak a mile wide, a taste for debauchery and controversy (as well as copious amounts of alcohol). His past self seemed like a stranger almost, a completely different person compared to the stern and dignified gentleman he was now. “God, I was a nightmare back then.”

“You were not a nightmare...”

“I was my _parent’s_ nightmare.” He grinned.

Odette rolled her eyes, guiding her partner into the centre of the stage. “What was I like? Was I a nightmare too?”

“Far from it, my dear. You were a dream. A very different dream to the one you are now, but still a wonderful dream nonetheless.”

"I'm flattered you’d say that." _I wonder what you remember about my younger self,_ she thought, wondering if he recalled any of her more immature and teenaged moments. Lord knows she’d had a few.

"I remember a lot about you, my dear." Like how she used to love the rain, or how plums were her favourite fruit, or like how nothing perked her up more than the scent of fresh lavender. Small things, the things that made her so endearing then and still endeared her to him now. "I daresay you haven't changed as much as you think."

Her eyebrows arched, and she refrained from asking any further, before they fell and her eyes became thoughtful rather than knowing. "We spent so much time together back then, didn't we? I swear I saw you every day."

"I think we did see each other every day. What with all the rehearsals and such." But even then they’d spent the few days off they’d had together, wandering through parks and by the Seine, hands barely touching, barely admitting they were a couple. "But we were rather inseparable, weren't we?"

Odette chuckled. “So close, we should’ve gotten married.” After all, they'd adored each other beyond words. Getting married would've just been the done thing. 

“Ah, we were young then. Too young.” They’d spoken about this before, too many times to count. It just seemed to be a nagging question they both vied to answer first. _We were young, we barely knew each other, we had careers we couldn’t jeopardise, we didn’t have the money to start a family._

They’d discussed their reasons. But they just didn’t seem satisfied with them. 

"But we could get married now."

Odette's head shot up from watching her footwork, eyes attentive and brows so curled inwards that her eyelids were pushed down. "What...?"

"Why not get married now, now that we're older? That was one of our reasons for not doing it back then, right? That we were too young?” 

"Well... yes...” _Among other things,_ she thought.

"Then why shouldn’t we get married?” His smile was adorable and annoyingly coy, the confident smirk one wouldn’t usually expect from someone who’d just asked his long-term love to marry him. It was infuriating, in a way. Odette had imagined he’d be shyer and more nervous when he finally proposed, his cheeks flushed and hot, and stumbling over his words as he professed his love.

Or maybe that was just her long-buried romantic side. Even if he were still a youth, something told her Mérante’s proposal would have still been irritatingly cocky, and he’d do it in front of a crowd, taking her hand with a grin and declaring to everyone watching how much he loved her and how wished for her to marry him...

... Now that she thought about it, Odette was rather pleased his adult proposal was so quiet and private.

Her expression stayed apprehensive, though not opposing. "Aren't we too old?"

And his expression stayed smug. "You're never too old. I've known people older than me who've wed." Although he didn’t know _too_ many people who waited until they were four decades old to get married... but that didn't bother him in the slightest.

"People will ask questions." As in, _why did the ballet master marry a cripple? When will they have children? Can they even have children? Why did they wait so long? Is he a queer? Why did he choose her? Out of all the beautiful women at the opera?_

"People always ask questions. They don't bother me.” He had his answers pre-prepared, after all. He’d had them pre-prepared from the moment he’d first considered marrying her after they started dating again, knowing full well that not everybody had known them as teenagers and wouldn’t understand why a high-class gentleman like himself was pursuing the hand of a cleaning maid. 

Odette appeared to run out of counters quite quickly, her lips twitching with questions she could easily answer herself, before her shoulders finally drooped and her face softened into contentment. As the questions in her mind finally died down, she let out a sigh, pulling back just far enough so she could look up at Mérante’s face, which still burned bright with eagerness. 

Yes, she’d loved him then, when she was a silly teenager who thought their idle infatuation was full-blown love. Yes, she still loved him now, after so many years spent apart and miserable, letting their absent hearts grow fonder by the year. Yes, this sudden proposal was a surprise, and she’d never reacted well to surprises.

No, she wasn’t going to reject him.

"Do you really want to get married then?”

“Yes. I do.” Without hesitating, he brought her hand up to his lips and kissed her knuckles lightly. “But do you? You seem very hesitant.”

She smirked. “I was expecting a grander proposal from you of all people. I suppose I was surprised you proposed without an audience.” Her smirk faded into its previous expression, and she freed her hand from his so she could loop her arms around his neck and pull his head forward till his ear met her mouth. “But I do. I want this more than anything else in the world.”

She felt him turn and kiss her cheek. “Me too.”


End file.
